


You've Only Got Yourself to Blame

by RubyIntyale



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Infidelity, M/M, Masturbation, Pining, interruptions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-05-02 12:37:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14544897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RubyIntyale/pseuds/RubyIntyale
Summary: Timmy finds some old photos of Armie that he really, really likes.Completed 25.07.2018





	1. You've Only Got Yourself to Blame

**Author's Note:**

> A little weekend ficlet inspired by [this](http://lion-from-the-north.tumblr.com/post/173474259472/nymph-armie/) and [this.](http://lion-from-the-north.tumblr.com/post/173506403452/is-it-a-vide0-ill-call-you-by-mine/)  
> I made this up. It's not real. I love these guys and I mean no disrespect.

Timmy hadn't come for twelve days. Impressive, you might think, but it was not a conscious choice, rather one borne of exhaustion, guilt and never feeling like he was really alone. He sat on yet another bed in yet another hotel room, scrolling through random crap on his phone because there was nothing else to do. Even now he could hear Armie in the adjoining room, moving around, doing Armie things. Timmy was constantly aware of his presence and it was getting to him in the worst way.

He absolutely had to get over his very attractive, very talented, very married best friend. It was never gonna happen. He should just move on. Timmy screwed up his face, pissed off and frustrated. Yeah, right, OK.

He kept scrolling through news articles. Reading all the praise for the movie was gradually lifting him out of his foul mood. But then.

“Armie Hammer Heats Things Up!” The title proclaimed in bold red type. Timmy was fully prepared to scoff and move on, but under the title was a picture, and, well. He had to open the link.

His face got hot at the sight of Armie, shirtless, tanned skin glistening in the low light, looking for all the world like he was about to fuck a woman in an old style diner. She sat on the countertop, her dress hitched up and her legs round Armie's waist. Timmy had to swallow. He was actually _salivating_ over this.

He slammed his phone face down on the bed. Shit. He should _not_ be looking. This was exploitative and shallow and definitely not what he should be doing when Armie was just next door. He felt his cock start to thicken and fill inside his tight black jeans. He scrubbed a hand over his face, eyed his phone. Maybe if he was quick?

There were several more kissing photos, all of them hot. Timmy studied each one meticulously before moving on. When he reached the next picture, he made a desperate little noise. Armie. Spread out on the bed. Pants unbuttoned. PANTS UNBUTTONED.

Nope, it was too much. Timmy pulled his shirt over his head and yanked his jeans off. He crawled under the covers, phone in hand. Armie was so _young_ here. Timmy looked at the date of the photoshoot. 2010. Seven years ago. So Armie would've been more or less the same age he was now. Fuck, that made the whole thing even better, somehow. Timmy loved Armie as he was, obviously, but this Armie was new and different. His skin practically glowed, and those eyes. Those perfect white teeth. His hair was just a little bit fluffy, like you could muss it up and he'd look even more boyish and sexy and perfect. Timmy ached with want. He lifted his butt off the mattress to take his underwear off, eyes never leaving the screen. He was fully hard now, his dick slightly lifting off his stomach. He gasped at the first touch of his thumb against his slit, his dry spell making him even more sensitive than usual. He moaned with relief as he stroked himself firmly. He had to fuck this Armie. He just had to.

 

“Hey cutie,” he'd say, because this Armie said things like that.

They would be in a nightclub. Armie would come and chat him up at the bar. They'd make out on the dancefloor. They'd go back to Armie's place.

 

Timmy worked himself harder. God, just the thought of _kissing_ this Armie was enough to make him leak.

 

Photoshoot Armie would wrap his arms around him from behind and kiss his neck while he unzipped his jeans. He'd give him a quick squeeze at the front before slipping under Timmy's waistband, his large, warm hands cupping his ass as he pushed his clothing down his legs. They'd be in his kitchen, not even able to make it to the bedroom because they wanted each other so badly.

Timmy would kick his jeans and shoes to a far corner of the room and he would stand there, naked from the waist down, little smirk on his face, inviting Armie to do whatever the fuck he wanted. Model Armie's shirt would suffer the same fate as Timmy's shoes. His warm front would press against Timmy's back, his left hand round his throat while his right hand curled round his cock, making a fist that Timmy could fuck himself into.

Once Timmy was nice and worked up, Armie would let go and drop to his knees. Timmy would try to turn round, but Armie would stop him with a firm grip on his hipbone and a shake of his head.

 

Timmy's breath hitched as he imagined Armie's mouth on him. Kissing and licking him intimately _down there_ while he braced himself against the refrigerator. His balls were so full and tight. He cupped them gently as he arched up into his own hand, biting his lip.

 

They would end up in the same position as Armie and that woman; Timmy on the worktop, back against the cupboards, legs over Armie's elbows, completely exposed. They'd be kissing. Armie would pull his jeans down just enough to free his cock. He would tease him with it, catching the head on the skin behind his balls, nudging against his tight little

 

“Tim?” Loud knocking. “It's me. You busy?”

“Don't come in!” Timmy screeched, pulling the covers up round his neck, flinging his phone across the bed.

Armie had already opened the door that Timmy hadn't locked.

“Why are you in bed? It's two in the afternoon.”

“Jetlag,” Timmy lied. His mouth was dry and it made him sound weird.

Armie looked around the room, noticing the clothes Timmy had discarded. “Why aren't you dressed?”

He was smiling and Timmy wanted to die. He had never blushed so furiously in all his life.

“More comfortable,” he managed to croak out.

Armie spotted his phone. He hadn't locked the screen.

“Ha! Were you watching porn or something?” He made a beeline for the bed, “Let me see!”

Timmy lunged for his phone, but Armie was too quick. He snatched the phone up off the bed and started scrolling through the pictures.

Mortifyingly, Timmy was still kinda hard. His dick had gone far too long without attention and it wasn't going down without a fight. He flopped back, palms pressed against his eyes, not even daring to see Armie's reaction.

“Dude, I am so, so sorry,” he babbled. “I think all of this is getting to me and I just. But that's no excuse. I'm so sorry. I'll go, OK? I'll ask them to book me on the next flight out, I'll...”

“Tim.”

Timmy opened his eyes. Armie had put the phone down. His hand came to rest on Timmy's cock, warm even through the layers of bedding. He pressed down, just a little, holding Timmy's gaze the whole time.

“Stop talking.”

 


	2. There's Always Something Killing Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guilt's a funny thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was meant to be a one shot, but virtually every comment I got asked for more (thank you, by the way. What an amazing compliment), so here's another chapter.

“Tim? Stop talking.”

Time seemed to slow with his words. The room got quieter, until all Timmy could hear was the pounding of his heart and the sharp intake of his own breath. Armie pulled back the covers, slow, careful, giving them both every opportunity to back out. Neither of them did. Timmy was completely exposed. The urge to cover himself was strong, but he resisted, kept his trembling hands by his sides. He watched Armie's eyes rake over his chest, finally fixing on his thick, swollen cock. He spread his legs a little, squirming under Armie's gaze, an unintentional tease, but a definite invitation.

Conflicting emotions swept across Armie's face. He bit his bottom lip and moved closer until they were shoulder to shoulder. Timmy sat up, wanting to be near his mouth, their noses almost touching. Armie stroked down his inner thigh from his knee, fingers gently brushing his sensitive skin before his large, warm hand wrapped around Timmy's length and _squeezed._

Timmy gasped out a breath he didn't realise he'd been holding. Armie pulled upwards, his fist tight, making more precome bead in Timmy's slit. He smeared it round the head with his thumb, his eyes never leaving Timmy's.

Timmy was so turned on and so confused and so desperate he felt tears sting his eyes. He just wanted Armie to play with him. It was all he had ever wanted. His cock was so sore, his balls so full they ached. Mercifully, Armie didn't seem in any mood to drag this out. He worked him hard and fast, the sound of skin on skin obscene in the stillness of the room. When he reached the point of no return, Timmy crashed their mouths together, drowning in the kiss as he shot his load all over his stomach and Armie's fist.

There was so fucking much of it, he was almost embarrassed. Armie pulled away and Timmy let him go with a swipe of his tongue over his bottom lip. Armie wiped his hand on the bed. They were both breathing heavily. Timmy glanced down at the bulge in Armie's jeans. His fingers went towards his fly.

“Let me.”

Armie looked like he was about to say yes.

His phone rang loudly, shattering the bubble they'd formed around themselves. Timmy jerked his hands away as if he'd been burned. Armie scrabbled to get his phone out of his pocket.

“Liz! Hi! No, I was in the bathroom. Had to run to the phone. What's up?” He scrambled off the bed and stumbled towards his own room.

Timmy scowled, his gut twisting painfully. Armie mouthed 'sorry' as he closed his door.

~

It was one of those rare times when they were being interviewed separately. Timmy fudged his way through 3 separate journalists, giving vague, half-hearted answers to their repetitive questions. He tried not to come off as rude or insincere, but he just couldn't concentrate. He could still feel Armie's hands on him and it made him even more fidgety than usual.

He was thrilled when the day was over. He waited outside Armie's door, hoping he had finished too so that they could go to dinner together. He knocked loudly several times, but there was no answer. Strange. He pulled out his phone.

**Hey, where are you?**

…

**Already out.**

…

**Oh. OK, cool. See you later?**

Timmy had lost his appetite. He waited several minutes for a reply that didn't come. Sighing, he unlocked his room with his key card, kicked off his shoes and flopped down on the bed.

 

It was dark when he woke up. He checked his phone. 1am. He stripped off his jeans and socks, planning to get into bed properly. He shone his phone screen round the room as a makeshift torch, looking for the bottle of water he knew he'd put down somewhere. The blue glow caught the door between his room and Armie's. It was slightly ajar. Timmy frowned, sure that Armie had closed it when he'd answered the phone. Maybe he'd checked on Timmy in the night.

That thought was enough to send Timmy to the door. He pressed his ear against the varnished white wood, but everything was quiet. He gingerly lowered the handle, frightened of making a noise and waking Armie.

He needn't have worried. Armie sat on the edge of the bed, staring out through the open curtains, still fully clothed.

“My kids are sick,” he said, knowing Timmy was there without looking at him.

Timmy stepped into the room. “That sucks, I'm really sorry.” He sat down next to Armie, timidly resting a hand on his shoulder.

“That's why Liz called. To tell me.” Armie looked like he might've been crying. It was hard to tell in the gloom. “My wife called to tell me that my kids are sick and they miss their daddy, and while I was talking to her, I could taste _you._ I could _smell_ you.”

Timmy took his hand away, nervously held it in his lap. “I'm sorry.”

“How long?”

“What?”

“How fucking long, Tim?”

Timmy sighed heavily. “Since the piano lesson. More or less.”

Armie rested his elbows on his knees, looking down as he ran his hands through his hair. “Fuck.”

“I'm really sorry,” Timmy said again. He hugged his knees to his chest. Armie's room was cold and he felt vulnerable in just his boxers and t shirt.

“Don't be,” Armie placed a hand on his knee. “You were just looking at pictures. I'm the one who...” his breath caught and he shook his head. He didn't finish.

Timmy held Armie's chin, gently turning his head to face him. Armie let him do it, too at war with himself to reject the comfort he so obviously needed. Timmy pressed their lips together, the kiss chaste at first but soon turning open mouthed and honest. Timmy stretched his hand out to cup Armie through his jeans. He was very, very hard. He whimpered into Timmy's mouth.

“Let me,” Timmy kissed his neck. “Please, Armie.”

Timmy unzipped his jeans and stroked him through his boxers. He lowered himself to the floor, kneeling between Armie's spread thighs. He looked up at him with pleading eyes, tongue sneaking out to wet his lips. Armie nodded, an almost imperceptible tilt of his head, but it was enough. Timmy pulled his jeans and underwear down, Armie lifting up to assist him.

The first touch of his tongue on the velvety head was exquisite. Armie tasted like he talked; salty and sharp. He had to have more. He closed his eyes as he bobbed his head, lost in the sensation of Armie filling his mouth. He felt fingers in his hair and moaned.

“Tim, Tim you have to stop, please.” Desperate voice. The fingers were there to tug his head away. Exasperated, he pulled off Armie's cock with a wet pop, eyebrows raised in a silent question.

“I'm sorry, Tim. I can't. I can't do this.” Armie stood up quickly, almost knocking Timmy backwards in his haste to dress himself.

Timmy wiped his mouth with his hand. “So what was earlier?” A cruel smirk and an edge to his voice.

Armie hung his head. “A weak moment. I'm sorry. I just, I don't want to hurt anyone.”

“You mean you don't want to hurt _her,_ ” Timmy got to his feet. “You've already hurt me.”

“I don't want to hurt _them_ ,” Armie corrected. He sat on the bed with his head in his hands.

Timmy's anger slowly evaporated as he watched Armie. He seemed smaller in that moment, his whole personality turned on its axis. Timmy stood in front of him, stroking his hair, offering comfort. Armie wrapped his arms around his waist and held him tight. Timmy could feel tears soaking through his shirt.

“Come to bed with me.”

Armie looked panicked. “I can't. I just said.”

“Sshhh,” Timmy soothed, “Not for that. You're exhausted, and I don't want to leave you alone. I won't sleep if I know you're in here by yourself.”

Armie sniffed and nodded. “OK.”

Timmy held his hand and led him to his room. He slowly unbuttoned Armie's shirt and Armie shrugged out of it, his jeans following close behind. They crawled into bed and pulled the covers tightly around themselves, shivering at the cold touch of hotel cotton.

“Do you wanna be the big spoon or the little spoon?” Timmy asked. His tone was light, but the words stuck in his throat.

“Big spoon,” Armie said sadly.

Timmy turned onto his side and Armie held him around his middle, nose buried in his curls.

~

Timmy woke to a headache and an empty bed. The connecting door was locked.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that this isn't my usual happy fluff/smut combo. I guess I just wanted to write something a bit different x


	3. No Longer Comatose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armie isn't really one for impulse control.

Timmy walked straight past Armie in the foyer and got into the waiting car without acknowledging his existence. His eyes were glued to his phone all the way to the airport. He could feel Armie in the seat next to him, getting more and more agitated the longer he was ignored. Timmy knew this freeze-out was childish, but he had committed now. Besides, Armie was the one who left his bed in the middle of the night. Armie was the one who _didn't want to talk about it,_ so why should Timmy talk _at all_?

 

Check in, pat downs, shoes off, x-rays. Airport lounge, where Timmy immersed himself in the latest issue of GQ and Armie pointedly did not look at him every few minutes. Once they were on the plane, Timmy got his headphones out of his bag and placed them delicately over his ears.

Armie snorted and rolled his eyes. He lifted one of the pads away from Timmy's head. “Real mature, Tim,” he let it go with a twang.

Timmy scowled as he pulled the headphones down to circle his neck. “So is locking yourself in your room. Guess I learn from the best after all.”

“Can you fucking not, please? It's ten hours to London and I can't deal with you when you're like this.” Armie crossed his arms, his jaw set hard, making the little muscle in his cheek clench.

Timmy shrugged dismissively. He put the headphones back on, turned the volume up loud and shut his eyes.

About an hour later, he felt something nudge his hand as it rested on the fold down table. Armie had pushed a scrap of paper under his palm. Frowning, Timmy picked it up.

“I'm sorry,” in Armie's loopy cursive. And a sad face. Timmy smiled in spite of himself and looked over at Armie. He looked thoroughly miserable, folded at an awkward angle, legs stretched out into the aisle. Timmy felt his resolve start to crack. He turned his music off and put his headphones on his lap.

“Me too,” he said quietly, head down.

Armie squeezed his knee, just once. “It was sweet of you, last night, but I couldn't stay,” he said quietly. “It wasn't right.”

“I wasn't gonna try anything.” Timmy insisted, making eye contact for the first time that day.

Armie sighed heavily. “We shouldn't be in bed together, regardless.”

“If you say so,” Timmy sulked.

“I do say so. How do you think Liz would feel if she knew?”

Timmy didn't want to think about that right now. Why was everything about _her?_ “It won't happen again,” he said coldly.

“Thank you.”

The rest of the flight passed more amicably, but Timmy was still on edge. He tried to tell himself that this was a blip, a weird moment in an otherwise perfect friendship. They would laugh about this, at some point. The twisting in his gut would stop, eventually. The hotel receptionist told them they had adjoining rooms. Timmy could've cried.

 

They had the following day off to get over the jet-lag. Timmy slept 'till noon. He showered and shaved, but didn't bother getting dressed, wrapping himself in an enormous hotel dressing gown while he ordered room service with the phone balanced on his shoulder. He found a TV channel that seemed to be showing nothing but repeats of How I Met Your Mother. Good. He wouldn't have to think for awhile. He could hear Armie talking in the room next door, probably on the phone to Liz.

On screen, Ted Mosby was trying to justify cheating on his girlfriend. “I'm exhausted. I'm exhausted from pretending I'm not in love with her.”

Timmy glanced sadly at the adjoining door. He raised his can of Coke to the TV in a conciliatory gesture. S _ame, bro._

Armie's voice was getting louder. Timmy muted the TV. It sounded like Armie was shouting at someone. He strained to hear more, but the walls were thick here. He couldn't make out the actual words, but it was obviously an argument and it made him anxious. He turned the volume up again, trying to focus on the show. A thud, like something had been kicked over, then silence.

Armie knocked on the internal door a few moments later. Timmy let him in. “I'm gonna head out,” he looked Timmy up and down, and Timmy held the robe closed more tightly near his neck. “Explore a little. Maybe get a drink. You wanna come?”

“OK,” It would be good for them to do something normal. “Just let me get dressed. I'll meet you downstairs.”

They found a relatively quiet pub and settled into a booth near the back, away from the windows. Armie took his coat off and left it on the bench while he went to the bar. Timmy folded it up and placed his own coat on top of it. A little barrier between himself and Armie. It would have to do, for now. Armie came back with two full pints and a bottle of cider for Timmy. “Don't wanna keep getting up,” he shrugged, when Timmy raised an eyebrow and gestured to the two drinks.

They talked about frivolous things for awhile. They finished their drinks and Armie went to get more, bringing two bottles for Timmy this time. They talked about the interviews they had to do tomorrow. Armie went to get more drinks. They sat closer and closer, leaning in to be heard in the crowded pub. Armie's eyes got softer and softer, his smiles longer, his gaze lingering.

“The Guardian one should be good, at least,” Timmy drained his fourth bottle, “They're intellectuals. None of that tabloid shit.”

“Thank fuck. If one more person asks me if it was hard to 'play gay' I might just rip their fucking throat out.”

Timmy snorted with laughter. “Jesus, dude!”

Armie leant back in the booth with a grin on his face.

“But seriously,” Timmy picked at the label on his cider bottle, “are you OK? I, er, I kinda heard you yelling. Before.”

Armie sighed heavily. “Liz and I had a fight.”

“Oh,” Timmy feigned surprise, “that sucks. What about?”

Armie barked out a laugh, poking tickling fingers under Timmy's ribs. “Look at you! Little snake in the grass. Digging for info on why my marriage is failing?”

“What?” Timmy didn't laugh. He batted Armie's hand away, forehead scrunched in confusion. “What do you mean, failing?”

Armie's face fell. “I'm talking shit.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, blinked a few times, shook his head to clear it. “I think I've had enough. We should head back to the hotel.”

“OK?” Timmy didn't buy it. He'd seen Armie shitfaced, and this wasn't it. They walked back to the hotel in silence. Timmy's skin felt prickly. He was hyper aware of everything going on around them, jumping at every car horn, convinced that they'd be recognised at any moment.

He was relieved when he reached his room. “See you tomorrow.”

But Armie wasn't leaving. “We fought about you,” he said, as soon as the door closed behind them.

“Oh God,” Timmy's stomach lurched. He sat down heavily on the bed. “You didn't tell her, did you?”

Armie snorted. “Fuck no. I'm not stupid.”

“So what was...?”

Armie paced across to the opposite side of the room. “She doesn't like how we've been acting. How we've been talking, in interviews and stuff. She says I'm embarrassing her. She wants me to 'dial it back,' whatever the fuck that means.”

Timmy didn't respond.

Armie carried on. “Her reputation is everything. God forbid I should actually say what's on _my_ mind, you know? She's terrified that someone, somewhere might not like me. It's fucked.”

Timmy nodded. Armie looked at him, his face softer now he'd vented his anger. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't be burdening you with all this stuff.”

“It's fine,” Timmy sighed. “I'm sorry you guys are having problems. Genuinely, I'm sorry.”

Armie nodded sadly. “You're a good friend, Tim. I don't say that enough.”

The word stung like a needle to his gut. He stood up. “Get some sleep. Busy day tomorrow.”

“Yeah, um, OK,” Armie lingered, his hand on the doorknob _._ “Well, night.”

“Night.”

He sat back down once Armie left, inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly. He ran his hands through his hair, angrily mussing it up at the back.

Insistent knocking on the dividing door. _Fuck's sake!_

Timmy flung it open. “What?!”

Armie grabbed fistfuls of his shirt, pulled him into the other room, and kissed him hard on the mouth, desperate and hungry.

Timmy indulged for a few seconds before he came to his senses and pulled away. “What the hell?”

Armie went for his mouth again, pressing him up against the wall this time so that he could rock his hips into Timmy's. Timmy forcefully ended the kiss, holding Armie away with both hands pressed to his chest.

“Armie? You said we couldn't.”

“I know,” Armie started kissing his throat, “but you're so fucking tempting,” he cupped Timmy through his jeans, “and I make your dick hard. We could re-create that photoshoot,” he nipped his neck, “I could fuck you on the desk.”

Tempting. _Tempting._ TEMPTING. If Armie had metaphorically closed the door on 'them' before, he'd cracked it wide open now. Timmy slid his tongue into his mouth and pushed into his hand, moaning at the delicious friction that was already making his underwear sticky.

“None of this is on you,” Armie whispered against his ear. “I want this. Just say yes.”

Timmy whimpered and nodded, tired of being good. Sick of other people's _feelings_. Armie was a grown ass man, he could make up his own mind. “But not on the desk.”

Armie was immediately on his knees in front of Timmy, pulling his jeans and boxers down. He took him into his mouth and sucked, only briefly, but long enough for Timmy to smack his head against the wall and tangle his fingers in Armie's hair. They undressed so quickly they were at risk of losing buttons. Timmy's shirt collar got stuck in his mouth when Armie tried to pull it off. They crashed onto the bed with Armie on top.

“Fuck.”

“What?”

Their dicks were touching. Armie looked embarrassed. “I don't have anything.”

Timmy raised his eyebrows.

“Condoms. Lube. I don't have any of it.” He flopped off Timmy and to lay on his back, hands over his face. “Oh, this was not well planned.”

He sounded almost heartbroken. Timmy had to stifle a laugh. “I do.”

“What? Why? Were you planning to hook up with someone?”

“Calm down, Jealous. I dunno. I just have that stuff. I live in hope, I guess.” Self depreciating shrug.

Armie kissed him thoroughly. “You're such a boy scout. I love that.”

Timmy's cheeks felt tingly. “I'll, er, I'll just go and get them.” He scrambled off the bed and into his bathroom, frantically searching his washbag. Quick and dirty. That's what this needed to be. Just a quick, dirty fuck to get it out of their systems, and then they could move on. It didn't have to be a big deal.

He crawled back on top of Armie and sank into his embrace, dropping the packets of lube and condoms on the bed next to them. They made out for awhile, Armie's hands on his ass, until he held Timmy close and rolled them so that he was on top again.

“Sit up,” Timmy instructed. Armie scooted back so that he could kneel between Timmy's spread legs. Timmy tore the top off a sachet of lube and generously coated his fingers. He was gonna do this himself; Armie was a proven flight risk and he wanted him balls deep before he changed his mind again.

Armie moaned softly as he watched Timmy slide impossibly long fingers inside himself, over and over. It wasn't really enough, but Timmy wanted it to ache. He wanted to feel it for days, the tangible proof that they'd been together like this.

“OK,” he sounded out of breath already.

He watched Armie roll the condom on, shifted so that they were in the centre of the bed. Armie held his legs up to his chest, his strong hands gripping the back of his knees. Timmy felt his head push inside.

“Wait!” He grabbed Armie's wrist. “Go slow, OK? I mean, at first.”

Armie smiled. “Of course.”

He was gentle right up until Timmy started begging for harder, faster, more. Then he was fucking incredible. Timmy had never been stretched out and filled up so perfectly. He dug his fingers into the pads of Armie's shoulders, never wanting to let go.

Their quick, dirty fuck turned out to be anything but. Armie was constantly kissing him. If it wasn't his mouth it was his neck, his shoulder. His thumbs stroked the backs of his thighs lazily. His thrusts became languid and then sped up again. It was starting to hurt.

Timmy winced after Armie pushed in particularly deep.

Armie stopped moving. “What's wrong?”

“Getting a little sore,” he admitted, blinking rapidly.

Armie pulled out. He slicked himself up with more lube before sliding back inside, more easily this time. “Better?”

Timmy nodded. “Thanks.”

Armie kept his thrusts shallow. “Sorry. It takes me fucking forever to come with a rubber.”

“If you make me come, you can finish on my chest.”

Armie closed his eyes at his words, his hips moving faster in response. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” Timmy kissed him. “I wanna see it.”

“Fuck. What do you need?”

“Faster. Don't stop.”

Timmy stroked his cock in time with Armie's thrusts until he came all over himself, whining and panting Armie's name.

Armie held still, enjoying the feeling of Timmy's muscles fluttering and contracting all around him. He pulled out as Timmy came down, stripping off the condom and throwing it onto the floor. He worked his dick so hard it looked painful.

“Oh, fuck!” He came hard, thick spurts mixing with the mess on Timmy's stomach. He held his softening cock, squeezing out the last drops, until he couldn't stay upright any more and he had to lay down.

Timmy felt absolutely wrecked. He made his way to the bathroom on rubbery legs, wet a hand towel to clean the mess off himself. He could shower in the morning. He picked the condom up on his way back and threw it in the bin. Armie was virtually asleep when he curled up next to him.

“Do you mind if I stay?” He asked quietly.

Armie wrapped an arm round him and pulled him close.

 

Even when he was trying to be quiet, Armie's voice was deep and it carried. Timmy rubbed sleep out of his eyes as he looked round the room. It was still dark. Light streamed through the gap where the bathroom door wasn't closed properly.

“No, of course. I know, I'm sorry. I love you too. I'll call you tomorrow.”

Timmy kicked the covers off, tucked himself into a little ball, and pulled the pillow over his head.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	4. The Interview

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone hasn't read THE Guardian interview and would like to, it's [here.](https://www.theguardian.com/film/2017/sep/28/armie-hammer-call-me-by-your-name-there-were-all-these-fetishes-i-didnt-understand/)

Timmy heard the click of the light pull chord as Armie left the bathroom. He quickly put the pillow back under his head, turned on his side and closed his eyes, pretending to be asleep. He felt the mattress dip as Armie gently climbed back into bed. He felt the back of his warm hand as he stroked his shoulder, his upper arm, barely touching for fear of waking him. Armie kissed the nape of his neck and he had to force himself to stay still. After what felt like an eternity, Armie rolled away and went back to sleep. Timmy stayed awake, staring into the darkness, counting the minutes until he could leave.

He was bolt upright as soon as the sun came up. The movement woke Armie, who blinked sleepily and stretched, lifting his hips off the bed a little. His erection tented the sheet that was already pulled down to his belly button. Timmy had to look away.

“Morning,” Armie smiled, voice scratchy from sleep.

“Hey,” Timmy didn't smile. “I'm gonna take a shower.”

“Mmm, want some company?” Armie looked down at his own crotch, raised an eyebrow.

“No thank you.”

“Oh. Um, OK.”

Timmy gathered up his clothes as he walked to the door.

“You can use mine. If you want to.” Armie's voice was small, confused.

Timmy turned round to face him. “All my stuff is in mine, so...” he shrugged. “See you downstairs.”

He leant against the door as soon as it was closed. He was really fucking sore. His eyes were puffy from lack of sleep and his throat felt weird. His legs ached from being held up for so long. He hadn't managed to clean all the come off himself and some of it had dried on his left hip. He picked at it, disgusted with himself. He was a mess. All of this was a complete mess.

He ran the shower until it was nice and hot, wincing as the scalding spray hit his sensitive muscles. He soaped himself up and rinsed off, then decided to do it again. He made himself stop after the third wash. Nasty thoughts began swirling as he washed his hair. Armie would always give in, would always give _her_ everything she wanted, but he didn't have to play along with it. Not even slightly.

~

They arrived at Kings Place to find the journalists huddled together, giggling at something they couldn't see.

Armie arrived with his typical, wide-eyed enthusiasm. “What did I miss? What's happening? Something funny?”

Timmy stood with his hands awkwardly shoved in his pockets as the journalists immediately flocked over to them.

“Ryan,” one held his hand out to Armie. Armie shook it graciously. “We were just commenting on the microphones over there.”

Timmy looked over his shoulder at a row of bulbous yellow heads.

“We think they look like lemons,” Ryan continued, “though it'd be funnier if they were peaches.”

Timmy chuckled, smiling politely.

Armie rolled his eyes. “Why do I have the feeling I'm going to be getting this a lot?”

 

Ryan was interviewing Armie alone and Timmy was with someone else, but they were in the same room so Timmy made sure their paths kept crossing. Armie went to get coffee and Timmy followed. He put his hand on his shoulder as he leaned over the table. _Now or never._ He kissed Armie on the cheek. Armie turned to face him, a little shocked, and Timmy kissed him hard on the mouth. Pulled away, raised his eyebrows, naughty smirk turning up his mouth.

Armie blushed. “Behave.”

Timmy just shrugged and sauntered away.

The interviews carried on. Timmy finished up and said goodbye to the woman he'd been speaking to. He wandered over to where Armie and Ryan were still talking animatedly, flopping down on the sofa, far too close.

“So, Timothee,” Ryan smiled at him, “I have Armie's answer, but have you ever experienced the kind of love depicted in the movie?”

Timmy sighed wistfully. “I have, actually,” Armie stared at him. “It was the summer I was working with this actor named Armie Hammer.”

Armie blushed, laughing and waving his hand dismissively, and Timmy kissed him again. On the mouth. In front of everyone. He was very, very tempted to slip his tongue in as well, but he managed to restrain himself.

Ryan looked like he was screaming internally, a tight lipped smile on his face. Timmy sat back, legs crossed at the ankles, smug as fuck while he watched Armie try to laugh it off. 'See what I have to deal with? Ha ha ha.'

~

“OK. What the fuck?” They were back at the hotel and Armie looked pissed.

Timmy smiled sweetly. “What? It's not like he's gonna put it in the article.”

“You were _kissing_ me, Tim. In _public_. That's...That's not a good idea.”

“Why?” Timmy folded his arms. “Was that not 'dialling it back' enough? Or are we not doing that any more? I'm a bit confused. You know, after last night.”

“Fuck.” Armie ran his hands through his hair.

“I heard you,” Timmy's voice was cold. “On the phone. 'I love you. I'm sorry.' And then you got right back in bed with me. Nice to see you've forgiven yourself.”

Armie looked like he'd been kicked. “She called _me_ , Tim. I couldn't just ignore her. And I only went in the bathroom cos I didn't wanna wake you, so don't accuse me of sneaking around.”

“Ah yes, you're the perfect boyfriend. So considerate.” The words were out of his mouth before he realised his mistake. _Shit._

Armie winced. “Tim, listen. We were drunk. It was...It was just one time.”

Timmy shook his head, Adam's apple bobbing as his throat worked hard, trying desperately not to cry. “No, we weren't. Not at all. And if that's what you need to tell yourself then I don't really know you at all.”

Armie sighed. “Tim, I feel guilty as hell. We shouldn't have, OK? I'll admit that, but don't think that it didn't matter to me.”

“You're not making sense!” Timmy threw his arms out wide, frustrated. “You keep contradicting yourself. What the fuck is going on with you?”

“I don't know!” Armie shouted back. Timmy jumped at the volume, eyes fearful. Armie lowered his voice, eyes down, defeated. “I don't know what to say, Tim.”

“You wanted to fuck me again _this morning!”_ Timmy was almost hysterical. He was grasping at straws and he knew how pathetic he sounded.

“Keep your voice down!” Armie hissed.

“Nuh uh. No. You don't get to do this,” Timmy let the tears come. Fuck it. “I've had these...feelings, for months. Over a year. You can't just put me back in the box when you're done playing with me. I'm not a...a model airplane or a ship in a bottle. I'm not something you _do_ when you're pissed off with your wife!”

Armie grabbed his arm. He tried to yank it away, but Armie held on tight, his fingers leaving imprints in Timmy's pale skin. “Calm the fuck down. That's not what's happening.” He let go of Timmy's arm and Timmy immediately pulled away, rubbing his abused flesh, staring at Armie accusingly.

“What do you want me to say? That I like you? Because of course I do. Do you want me to say that last night was amazing and I haven't stopped thinking about it?”

Timmy sniffed. “I just don't want you to lie.”

“I'm not lying!” Armie sounded exasperated. “But I can't walk away from my entire life because of one mistake.”

Timmy's face crumpled. Armie held his arms out and Timmy fell into his embrace, hugging him tightly. “You said none of this was on me,” he mumbled. “You wanted this too.”

Armie rubbed his back. “I know.” They stood there, holding each other in the quiet of the room.

“Oh God! The interview!” A fresh wave of sobs wracked Timmy's body. He felt suddenly sick, terrified of the repercussions of his childish behaviour. “I'm such a fucking idiot.”

“Ssssh, no. No you're not.”

“She's gonna know!” Timmy wailed.

“She won't. It's fine,” Armie kissed his cheek. “But it can't happen again.”

Timmy nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I know. I understand.” He let go of Armie, taking a deep breath as he stood up straighter.

“You're gonna be OK, right?”

Timmy shrugged. “Are you?”

Armie's silence was deafening.

 


	5. Snapshot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two months later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea what the schedule was for the promo tour and Google won't tell me(!), so just go with this.  
> Thank you again to everyone who has read, commented or left kudos so far.  
> This is fiction. Tasty, tasty fiction.

Timmy hated LA. Everything about it screamed 'artificial,' especially the people. He didn't understand how someone like Armie could be comfortable here. How he could call this place home.

It had been two months since his breakdown in London. Two months of superficial conversation and avoidance, all under the guise of being _careful_ around each other. Two months of guarded interviews and vague answers, steering journalists away from their 'special bond' and 'summer romance.' Two months of _respecting each other's boundaries._ It was draining.

He sipped his drink as he leant against the wall, watching Armie talk to people with enviable ease. He didn't belong in this crowd, in this overpriced hell, surrounded by people pretending they were somebody else. He felt homesick for the first time in his life.

On the verge of tears, he made his way to the back of the club and out through the fire door, letting it bang against the wall to vent some of his anger. He lit a cigarette and took a long drag, the smoke filling his lungs and comforting him better than any sickly sweet vapour ever could.

He frowned when Armie appeared in the doorway.

“You OK?”

Timmy turned his back. “Not really.”

“What's up?” Armie walked over and took the cigarette from him, their fingers brushing.

“You know what's up,” Timmy sniffed. “I fucking hate this.”

“Tim...” Armie sounded tired, like he was trying to placate a difficult child.

“I just wanna go home.”

Armie sighed, scrubbing his hand down his face. “Are you drunk?”

“A little,” Timmy squared his shoulders. “Why do _you_ care?”

“Of course I care. This isn't easy for me, either. Not being able to...”

They were mere inches apart. Timmy looked up at him with pleading eyes.

“If I kiss you,” Armie whispered, “will you come back inside?”

Timmy stood up on his tiptoes, his lips just brushing Armie's. “If you kiss me, you'll have to take me to bed. And hold me after.”

Armie pulled back, stared at him for a moment like he was trying to decide, and then crushed their mouths together, all tongues and teeth. Timmy moaned softly as Armie's hand found his waist.

A scraping, metallic clunk made them break apart.

“What was that?” Armie squinted into the darkness of the alleyway.

“I thought I heard...” Timmy followed his gaze, his heart beating erratically.

“Let's go back to the hotel,” Armie headed for the door. “Someone's bound to come out here soon anyway.”

Timmy threw his cigarette onto the ground, glancing down the alley one last time before following Armie back into the noise and heat of the nightclub.

 

Armie's room was nicer than his. He stood by the balcony, staring out across the hills and the twinkling lights. Armie came up behind him, wrapping his arms around his waist. He kissed Timmy on the cheek.

“I couldn't face going home,” he said quietly. “I'm sorry. I know we agreed to stop. I know it was my decision. I just. I wanted to be close to you.”

Timmy ran his hands along Armie's forearms, pulling himself into a tighter hug. “What the fuck are we doing?”

“I don't know,” Armie admitted, “but these have been the most miserable months of my life. I can't stand the thought of you hating me.”

Timmy smiled sadly. “Isn't that my line?”

“You must bring out the Elio in me.”

 

They lay naked on Armie's bed, beautiful suits in a forgotten heap on the floor. Timmy opened his mouth in invitation, Armie's tongue winding around his while his large hand teased and tugged on his cock. The numbness of the alcohol had started to wear off. Every swipe of Armie's fingers made him stiffen further. Armie's hand moved lower, gently stroking Timmy's furled entrance. He pushed against the resistance until just the tip of his finger slipped inside.

“Do it properly,” Timmy moaned, picking the lube up off the bed and pressing the tube into Armie's chest.

“Bossy,” Armie chastised, but he was smiling. He coated his fingers and slicked Timmy up, his hands shaking with every soft whimper, every clench and relax of tight muscles. “Up,” he pulled his fingers out, patting Timmy on the ass as he spoke.

Timmy knelt on all fours, arching his spine and spreading his legs, watching Armie over his shoulder. His hard dick brushed against his belly and he blinked away tears as Armie slowly entered him, grabbing a fistful of his curls to hold him in place. When he was fully inside, Armie stilled, just enjoying the feeling. He hugged Timmy round his middle, raining kisses everywhere his mouth could reach.

“Sit up,” he sucked a bruise into Timmy's shoulder blade, “I wanna try something.”

He started to slip out as Timmy moved forward. “No, keep me inside. I want you to sit in my lap.”

Timmy gingerly backed up, his thighs outside Armie's thighs, and sank down, fully impaling himself.

“Oh fuck,” he breathed out, his legs trembling. His ass was completely flush against Armie's groin. “I can feel you in my fucking stomach.”

Armie splayed his palm across his tummy, holding him closer. “In here?”

Timmy nodded, closing his eyes. “So full like this.”

“Mmmm,” Armie kissed his neck. “You look so good with my cock in you.”

“Fuuuck,” Timmy squirmed, “fuck, keep talking.”

He could feel Armie smiling against his nape.

“You like it when I talk to you?”

“Love your voice,” Timmy raised himself up a fraction of an inch and sat back down again. They both moaned.

“Says my sexy French boy. Do you want to know what I did this morning?”

“Uh huh,” it was hard to concentrate when he was stretched out so deliciously. It was also hard to ignore the word 'my.' Timmy let his hands rest on his thighs for balance as he worked himself up and down. Armie's hand was still on his stomach, warm, strong, protective.

“I was in the shower, and I was thinking about you, pretending you were there with me.”

“Mmm. What was I doing?”

“You were on your knees. Your eyelashes were all wet, and my dick was in your mouth. You had to open up so wide to take it all, but you were smiling.”

The visual made Timmy moan. He wrapped his hand around his cock. Armie's hand tangled in his hair, pulling his head back to expose his throat.

“That's it, baby boy. Just like that. Make yourself come for me.”

“I can't!” Timmy whined. “It's too much.”

The fat head of Armie's dick was constantly rubbing against his prostate, milking a thick stream of precome out of his slit.

Armie rubbed his belly in comforting circles. “What do you need? I'll give you anything, I promise.”

Timmy choked back a sob. “God! Fuck me!” He couldn't hold back any more. “Bend me over and fuck me until I can't take it and then fuck me harder! Please, Armie.”

Several expletives left Armie's mouth as he moved them back into their original position, keeping his cock buried deep. He gave Timmy exactly what he wanted, hard and fast until he couldn't think straight. He came shouting Armie's name, biting his own arm to stifle his screams. Armie fucked him through his orgasm, his pace never altering, even when Timmy got so tight it was painful. He came with a grunt, holding Timmy's hips as he emptied himself, his fingers digging in hard enough to bruise.

~

You need a thick skin to survive in this business, figuratively and literally. If you want to make something of yourself, you can't give up when they close the door in your face, or when the bodyguards shove you out of the way for the umpteenth time. You've got to be prepared to step over people, a swarm of rabid, snarling fans snapping at your heels all the way to the top.

Luckily for Miles, he had been a photographer long enough to develop tunnel vision when it came to events like this. Eyes on the prize, boys. Get in, get the shot, get paid. He hated the term 'paparazzi;' he was a fucking _artist_. Adaptable, dedicated to his craft. Sometimes that meant he had to put himself in unsavoury situations, such as this one. Crouching behind bins in a dark alley was not his idea of a good time, but there were too many people out front for him to see anything worth a damn. At least here he might see a spoilt socialite throw up on her pretty dress. That had to be worth a few hundred, at least.

The fire door banged open against the brick wall, making Miles jump. A lanky kid with a mop of hair walked out into the alley, lighting a cigarette. Miles had no fucking clue who he was, but the club had let him in, so he had to be at least semi-famous. He took a few pictures and waited for someone more interesting.

The lanky kid was soon joined by an older, taller guy who helped himself to the cigarette the boy was still holding.

“You OK?”

“Not really.”

“What's up?”

“You know what's up. I fucking hate this.”

“Tim...”

“I just wanna go home.”

The older guy sighed, scrubbing his hand down his face. “Are you drunk?”

“A little. Why do _you_ care?”

“Of course I care. This isn't easy for me, either. Not being able to...”

Oh, hello! This had suddenly got a lot more interesting. Miles brought the camera back up to his face and started clicking. They were standing _very_ close, now. He couldn't hear what they were saying. The younger guy stood up on his tiptoes and kissed the older guy on the mouth. Miles couldn't believe his luck. He really hoped his boss knew who these guys were. The taller one seemed to hesitate before kissing his _friend_ again, far more enthusiastically.

Miles moved to the side to get a better angle. His knee connected with the sharp metal of the bin and he hissed in pain. The two men broke apart instantly.

“What was that?”

“I thought I heard...”

“Let's go back to the hotel. Someone's bound to come out here soon anyway.”

The boy threw his forgotten cigarette to the ground and they disappeared back into the club.

Miles cursed under his breath. He pulled up his camera roll, scrolling through the digital display. It was a beautiful shot, he had to admit. They looked completely lost in each other. He was almost sad that he'd interrupted them. He zoomed in further. This thing was worth every penny. You could see every detail despite the hazy orange lighting of the club's exit sign. The older guy's hand was on the other one's waist, the silver of his wedding ring a stark contrast to the black material of their suits.

Miles tutted as he put the camera back into its bag. “Sorry boys, whoever you are,” he threw his backpack over his shoulder as he walked off into the night. “You brought this on yourselves.”

~

Timmy woke with the sun on his face, pillowed on Armie's chest. He smiled as he nuzzled his sleeping lover, his body aching in that gorgeous, post coital way. Everything was different, this time. He felt hopeful, excited. Armie wanted him. Armie was _his._

His phone buzzed on the bedside table. He carefully extracted himself from Armie's embrace, but it had stopped ringing by the time he got to it. Fifteen missed calls. That was odd. Anxiety crept up on him as he read through the list. Mom, Mom, Pauline, Mom, Pauline, his manager, Mom. He was about to call back when his phone rang again. His voice was scratchy when he answered.

“Hello?”

“Timmy? What did you do?”

It was Pauline. She sounded scared.

Timmy shook his head, trying to clear the sleepiness. “What? What do you mean?”

“Where are you?”

“At the hotel. In LA. What's going on?”

“Is he there with you?”

Timmy's stomach turned to water. He didn't answer.

“Oh fuck, it's true isn't it?”

“What're you talking about?”

Armie had woken at the sound of his voice. He stared at Timmy, his brow scrunched in confusion.

“There are pictures, Tim,” Pauline continued, “all over the internet. Mom is freaking out.”

“What pictures?” Timmy thought he might be sick.

“Of you two, making out behind some club.”

“What?!”

“Just Google yourself. I need to call Mom. I can't believe you've done this!” She hung up without saying goodbye.

Timmy frantically opened his web browser, typing his name into the search box. He went cold when he saw it. Their intimacy sordid under trashy headlines, his love for Armie scratched out for the whole world to see.

“Tim? What's wrong?” Armie rubbed his back.

Timmy's hands shook as he showed him the screen. On the other side of the room, Armie's phone started ringing.

 


	6. Escape Plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The characterisation of Armie's wife here fits the context of a made up story. It is not a comment on her or their relationship. All of this is fictional. I know everyone here is intelligent enough to make the distinction, but I feel like this needed saying regardless.

“You should answer it,” Timmy pulled his legs up to his chest and hugged them tightly.

Armie let out a breath, long and slow. “She's gonna lose it.”

“I know.”

Armie swung himself round to the side of the bed and pulled his boxers on as he stood up. “Are you sure you wanna be here for this?”

“Do you want me to leave?”

A small smile over his shoulder. Timmy stayed put.

Liz answered immediately. She was screaming so loud that Armie had to hold the phone away from his ear. Timmy clawed at the bite mark on his arm, hoping that the pain would calm him down enough to stop the shaking. It didn't work. Occasionally he caught phrases like 'fucking pervert' and 'that stupid kid.' His throat ached. His vision blurred with tears and Armie was just pacing up and down, barely speaking. He didn't argue, or deny anything. He just listened, defeated, his back turned the whole time.

“OK. I'll come home.” A beat. “Now. I'll come home now.” He disconnected the call, turned to face Timmy. “You should go back to New York.”

Fear coiled, cold in Timmy's stomach. “What?”

“We need to bury this. Quickly. You need to speak to your people and I need to get home.”

“But she knows now,” Timmy said, confused. “What does it matter?”

“There's more to it than that,” Armie started getting dressed, throwing things into his suitcase at the same time.

Timmy blinked, incredulous. This pragmatist wasn't Armie. He wanted the Armie from last night, the one who had rubbed his tummy and nuzzled his neck while they made love. He wanted the Armie who had cuddled him afterwards and kissed him until he fell asleep. He pulled the duvet over his shoulders into a makeshift cocoon, the residual warmth of their bodies a punch to the gut.

“What are you doing?” Armie sighed, “get dressed.”

Timmy didn't move. “I don't care.”

“Tim.”

“I don't care about anything else. None of it. All I want is you.”

“You know I can't just...Things are different for you,” Armie ran his hand through his hair, staring at his feet. “You're not gonna get that same judgement. I'm married. I have two kids. Everyone thinks that I'm...”

“Straight. I get it,” Timmy angrily shrugged the duvet off himself, scrabbled around for his clothes.

Armie picked his jacket up off the floor and shook it before handing it to him. “Just go home, Tim. Let me deal with this, and then we can talk. I'll fly to New York, OK?”

Timmy blinked up at him, not really daring to believe it.

“I promise,” Armie sat down next to him, gently bumped his shoulder into Timmy's shoulder, “but I need to go home first.”

~

Timmy fumbled with the key to his apartment, his brain too preoccupied and tired to deal with even the most menial tasks. He knew she was there as soon as he opened the door.

“Hi Mom.”

“Tim?” She rushed over and hugged him.

He dropped his bag with a loud thump, swaying into her as she held him tight. “Did you track my flight?” He mumbled into her hair.

“Yes, well, you told me you were coming home tonight. I didn't think you should be alone, so.”

He took a step back, nodded, sniffed and ran his hand under his nose.

“Oh, Timothée,” she held his head up and studied his face. “What happened?”

It was the first time he'd properly let himself cry. His mother guided him into the living room, gently pushed him to sit down on the sofa.

“Tim,” she sighed, “calm down. Explain it to me, please.”

“Pauline said you were freaked out,” Timmy pulled at a thread on one of the cushions.

“I was, at first. I mean I've seen you two kissing before, obviously, but,”

“Mom!” He squirmed with embarrassment.

She ignored him, “But that was a movie. I'm not quite sure what's going on here. He's married, isn't he? I met his wife.”

“Mom...”

“Were you drunk? Was it a joke?”

“We're sleeping together,” he said in a rush, colour flaring in his cheeks. “Have slept together. Twice.”

She was quiet for a long time. Timmy didn't look up from his hands. “Mom? Are,” he swallowed, “are you ashamed of me?”

“How can you even ask me that?” She stroked his cheek, her brow furrowed with worry. “Sweetheart, are _you_ ashamed?”

Timmy thought for a moment. “I feel like, like I should be? But I'm not. I don't know,” he stood up and walked to the window. “He's coming to New York.”

“When?”

“In a few days. He has some stuff to deal with first.”

“Tim,” his mother's tone was cautious, “if you're looking for my permission to break up a family, you won't get it.”

Timmy scowled.

“You deserve better than this. He isn't being fair to anyone, including himself.”

Timmy's shoulders slumped. “He's a good person, Mom,” he said quietly, his forehead against the window, his breath fogging up the glass.

His mother softened. “I know. You wouldn't have chosen him, otherwise.”

~

Three days passed with no word from Armie. Timmy checked his phone every few minutes, anxiety prickling up his spine, the tension making his neck ache. He was in a meeting with his manager, but he couldn't sit still or focus on anything being said. The pictures had been taken down from the original site, but they'd already made it to the mainstream press. He searched for himself on Twitter. Most of the tweets were in a similar vein, some mocking, some outraged. A small subset congratulated him, told him they'd known all along. He screenshot a few of the good ones. He could show Armie, at some point.

“Tim? Are you listening?”

“Hmm?” He looked up from his phone.

“This is serious, OK?”

“I kissed a boy I like,” Timmy shrugged, “Can we get over it?”

His manager pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes screwed shut as if fending off a headache. “Please don't play dumb. You're a smart kid, you know how this goes. They're calling you the mistress. The homewrecker.”

“It's worse for Armie.”

“Yeah. It is, but _he's_ not my client, you are. I care about _your_ future. We need a plan.”

 

Timmy left the meeting feeling drained. He hurried home with his head down, his baseball cap pulled low over his face. He took the stairs two at a time, eager to be back behind a locked door.

 

He woke in the early hours, achingly hard and empty, reliving every touch, every kiss, the warmth of Armie's thighs, the strength of his arms, the swell of his cock. He whimpered as he fucked his fist, face down on his stomach, biting the pillow to muffle his cries. He couldn't take it any more.

He yanked the charge cable out of his phone, his fingers slipping on the screen as he typed out

**???**

Armie's reply came quicker than he was expecting.

**Sunday.**

~

Timmy was up before dawn, cleaning and tidying obsessively, trying to make his tiny apartment appealing to someone with several acres and a pool. He stood in front of his empty fridge, his fingers drumming on the door. It was no good. He'd have to go shopping.

He tried to buy 'actual food,' as Armie called it, not just beer and snacks. He hovered in the pharmacy aisle, bouncing nervously on the balls of his feet. Should he buy lube? Was that presumptuous? Armie was coming here to _talk_. There was no promise of anything more. On the other hand, he didn't want to be caught out if things did go that way. He shoved a tube to the bottom of his basket, gritting his teeth.

His mom had made herself scarce for the afternoon, pointedly telling him exactly when she'd be back. The implication mortified him, but hell, at least she was considerate. It was mid-afternoon before the phone rang.

“Armie?”

“Hi Tim,” he sounded weird. Tired and edgy.

“Are you at the airport yet?” He could hear splashing in the background, children shouting, a door closing.

“No, I'm not.”

“Um, OK. When are you setting off?”

“Look, Tim. This isn't easy for me to say, but, um, we've decided that it's better for me to do this over the phone.”

“Who is 'we?'”

“Me and Liz decided that...”

“Oh, _you and Liz decided._ OK,” Timmy couldn't keep the venom out of his voice.

Armie sighed loudly. “I don't think we should be seen together. At least, not for awhile. Maybe in a few months when all this has blown over we can go back to being friends, but,”

“We're not friends,” Timmy said simply. “I'm in love with you.”

“Tim, don't.”

“Why? It's not like you don't know.”

Armie didn't speak for awhile. “I'm sorry, Tim,” his voice was artificially cold, detached, “I don't feel the same way.”

“Is she there with you?”

“She's downstairs.”

“Is she making you say this?”

“We had a good time. I'll always care about you, but this is my choice. I'm sorry.”

He took a deep breath, “Armie?”

“Yes?”

“You're a really good actor.”

 

His mother found him on the sofa, staring at nothing, phone still clasped between his palms.

“Is Armie here?” She flicked on the light.

“No,” Timmy didn't even move.

“Was his flight delayed or something?”

“He's not coming.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 more chapter to go!


	7. A Regular Spot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much to everyone who has read this, and to everyone who has left comments and encouragement along the way xxx

“Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Timothée Chalamet!”

Timmy walked down the carpeted stairs to thunderous applause, waving and smiling at the audience. He shook the host's hand, shared a quick joke before he sat down, unbuttoning his dark green jacket.

“So, Timothée, welcome back. You've become quite the regular on this show. We'll have to get you a parking spot.”

Timmy laughed. “Yep. Just when you think you've got rid of me.”

The host shook his head. “Not at all, not at all. And you're a popular sight at the Oscars, too.”

Massive applause from the audience.

“Yeah, well,” Timmy shrugged, “I've only won three, so.”

“Only won three. Did you hear that, folks, he's _only won three_ Oscars.”

Timmy blushed, “Three wins in eight years.”

“Are you disappointed?”

Laughter.

“No. In all seriousness, no. I've very happy. It's an honour to be nominated, so to win is incredible. To win three...I guess I'm still processing it.”

The host smiled kindly, “Well I for one am a massive fan of your latest film. Can you talk a bit about it? Maybe give us some backstory?”

~

It was six weeks before Tim saw Armie again. He spotted him across the room at a gallery opening, smiling and chatting away with Liz on his arm. He nearly spat out his drink. He walked quickly in the opposite direction, eager to put as much distance between himself and them as possible. He hadn't even known Armie was in New York. His hands were shaking.

Timmy wasn't looking where he was going and almost collided with a waiter carrying a _croquembouche_ _._

“Shit, dude. I'm sorry,” Timmy picked up a profiterole that had fallen off the stack. He was about to put it back on the top when he thought better of it and popped it into his mouth instead. He was sucking the cream off his thumb when he realised the waiter was staring at him.

“What?”

“Sorry, sorry. You're just,” the waiter let out a nervous rush of breath, “sorry.”

This guy was clearly interested. Could he do this? The waiter was definitely hot, shorter than him, but that didn't matter. His eyes were dark and rich, his hair an unruly mess of black curls. High cheekbones, cute little mouth.

“I'm Tim,” Timmy stuck his hand out in greeting.

“I know! I'm Ollie,” he grasped Timmy's hand, the tray on his other arm wobbling precariously.

Timmy grimaced. _Not funny, universe. Not at all._ “Nice to meet you, Ollie. Do you like the exhibit?”

 

They ended up making out in the bathroom. Tim had just got his hands down Ollie's pants when the door opened. He heard a familiar voice say 'Oh, excuse me,' before it banged closed again.

 

They fucked on Timmy's sofa, Ollie riding him while Tim held his slim hips. He tried desperately not to compare him to Armie, but everything was wrong. He didn't come, blamed it on the condom. Ollie offered to suck him off, but he declined. Said he was too tired, wiped the come off his chest. They had breakfast together in the morning. Timmy never saw him again.

~

Timmy sat back. The host had just finished playing a clip from the movie.

“Another indie for you, then?”

“Yeah. It's where I'll always be comfortable, I think.”

“Speaking of, do you still keep in touch with Luca? With the old gang?”

Timmy's eyebrow twitched. “He sends me Christmas cards, and we email and stuff. I haven't seen him in awhile, but yeah, we're still friends. I really admire what he's been doing recently.”

“And Armie Hammer?”

Timmy pulled the two halves of his jacket closer together.

The host coughed, embarrassed. “I mean, you must've seen the stories.”

“I have seen them. And good for him. I think he's shown a lot of courage.”

“I have to ask this. Did you know? I mean, before it all came out?”

“Look,” Timmy crossed his right leg over his left, “I'm not here to talk about Armie's private life. That's his story, not mine.”

“But you were a part of it? I mean, at least for a while.”

“If you're referring to the nightclub photos, that was nearly a decade ago. I haven't been involved in Armie's life for a long time. His announcement didn't _shock_ me, but it's not my business.”

The audience had fallen silent.

The host twisted his water glass around on the desktop. “Mr. Hammer has been quite candid about...Certain aspects. I'd like to hear your side.”

~

The music was so loud that Tim could feel the bass vibrating in his chest. He shoved his way through a sea of sweaty bodies out into the courtyard, the cloudless night doing little to cool him.

They were packed into a tiny bar in southern Spain. He'd lost Pauline about an hour ago, her friends long before that. Endless Sangria made his head pound. His eyes shifted, unfocussed as he pulled out his phone.

“Happy New Year 2021!” Someone shouted. The bar dissolved into whoops and claps.

**New YearStillin love with you xcxx**

It probably wasn't the new year where Armie was and that made Timmy very sad.

Pauline found him sitting in the dust, hugging his phone and swaying from side to side.

“You texted him.”

Timmy nodded.

“OK,” Pauline sighed. She flopped down to join him on the floor, “Give me your phone.”

“Noooo,” Timmy whined, holding it tighter against his body.

“Timmy, it's been _four years._ He probably doesn't even have the same number. Gimme.”

He reluctantly handed it over. Pauline tapped a few times before giving it back to him.

“There. Deleted. New year, new start. Just like we talked about.”

“Yeah, OK,” Timmy sniffed.

 

He had finally gone to bed when he got a text from an unknown number.

**Miss you too.**

He saved the number under 'Doug.'

~

Timmy smoothed his hands down the front of his trousers. “My side?”

“Well, he's admitted that he was involved with one of his male co-stars. That's you, right? I mean, who else could it be?”

Timmy smiled without humour. “I'm flattered. I must admit I don't go online much, these days, but I suppose if it's out there, there's no point in denying it. Yes. We were involved, but only briefly.”

A couple of shocked gasps from the audience, but most of them stayed quiet.

“Briefly?”

“When the photos came to light, he ended it.”

“And how was that for you? I mean, you were quite young at the time.”

“I've forgiven him.”

“OK,” the host gestured for him to go on.

Timmy sucked a breath in through his teeth. “I was heartbroken. I was in love for the first time in my life. I couldn't understand why he didn't choose me. I hated him. I loved him and it made me sick.”

The host blinked, slightly flustered. “His management passed the photos off as a misunderstanding, if I remember right.”

“Yeah, that's right. They said we were drunk and fooling around.”

“But that's not the case?”

“No. We were in bed together an hour later.”

“And now he's come out. Publicly. They've already been divorced six months.”

Timmy's mouth quirked up at the corner. “Have they?” He recovered quickly, “Well, like I said, I haven't been part of Armie's life for years.”

“You said you've forgiven him?”

“He made a tough decision. It hurt me. A lot. I thought I'd never get over him, but I understand it better now, I think. Thirty isn't twenty two. We all have to move on, eventually.”

~

At first it was just birthday and Christmas texts, then Armie started congratulating him on his Oscar wins. Timmy wished him good luck for his premieres, asked how the kids were. They fell into a routine of contacting each other once a month, which trailed off to every six months, then it stopped altogether.

 

“Have you seen the news?”

“Pauline? I was in the shower.”

“He's outed himself. On Twitter. Told the whole fucking world!”

“Who?”

“Armie! Keep up.”

Timmy nearly fell, his wet feet slipping on the laminate as he ran to his tablet.

_I've been hiding from my feelings for too long._

_This is who I am. I am done giving a fuck._

There was more, but Timmy was skim reading. The Tweet already had ten thousand likes. He felt like he should be happy, but it didn't mean anything. It was like he was reading about a fictional character. Should he call Armie? Congratulate him? Was that acceptable after eight years? In reality, this was nothing to do with him. After internally debating for several hours, Timmy decided to ignore the whole thing.

He got a phone call two days later.

~

Timmy paced the length of his living room, chewing his thumbnail. Every so often he glanced at the clock. Forty five minutes. Thirty. Fifteen. He left a track in the rug, tried to smooth it out with his foot.

 

Armie had asked if he could come over. Meeting in public was risky, he'd said.

“You know the address.”

“You still have the same apartment?!”

Timmy didn't know how to respond to that. He hung up, a little hurt, a little embarrassed.

 

His intercom buzzed loudly. He let Armie into the building, his stomach a churning mess. He'd rehearsed their whole conversation, but the words dissolved on his tongue when he opened the door.

He looked at Armie, at the lines around his smiling eyes, the tiny bit of grey near his temples, the softer shape of his body, and burst into tears.

“Shit. Tim? What's wrong?” Armie rushed into the apartment, his arms immediately finding Timmy, muscle memory holding him close.

“You're eight years late,” Timmy sobbed into his sleeve.

“I know, I know. I'm so sorry, Tim. So, so sorry,” he rubbed Timmy's back in comforting circles.

Timmy pulled away, trying to compose himself. He rubbed the tears out of his eyes as he sat up straighter. “So. What did you want to talk about?”

Armie smiled, soft and warm. “I just wanted to see you.”

 

Cramming the past few years into one conversation made Timmy's head swim. They reached a lull. Armie kissed him.

“Armie?”

“Sorry. Was that not OK?”

“I don't know. No, not really.”

“OK.”

“It's just, a lot. It's been a really long time.”

“I know. I don't want you to think I came here just for”

“I don't,” Timmy interrupted him with a hand on his knee. “I don't.”

They shared a long look. Timmy's phone rang, making him jump.

“Hello? What? Right now? Oh fuck, that's today isn't it?” He hung up, power walking into his bedroom. “So it turns out I'm on TV tonight.”

~

Timmy spent the car ride home mulling. Why hadn't Armie mentioned the divorce? He half expected him to be gone.

He wasn't in the living room. Sighing, Timmy kicked off his shoes and wandered into his bedroom, shrugging out of his jacket and folding it over a chair. The creak of bedsprings made him look up.

Armie was spread out across the mattress, shirtless, pants unbuttoned.

Timmy had loved Armie when he was thirty, but this Armie was new and different. His muscles had lost a bit of definition, but they were definitely still there. Those endless blue eyes still told him so much, and his hair was just a little bit fluffy, like you could muss it up and he'd look boyish again. Sexy and perfect.

“That's a bold move.”

“Would you believe me if I said this wasn't a come on?”

“Honestly? No.”

Armie laughed. “You exposed yourself on national TV. I think I can expose myself in the comfort of your bedroom.”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

Armie shrugged, as much as he could lying on his back. “Because it was never about that. And I didn't want you to think that's all that mattered to me. Like, I just had to put a tick in a box and then we could be together.”

Timmy looked away. “Together,” he said quietly, playing with his hands in his lap.

“I don't deserve you. I know that.”

“Armie.”

“No, listen. I fucked up. You're allowed to hate me.”

“I don't, though.”

Armie waved his hand, “Regardless, I just want to talk about it. No pressure, but I had to tell you how much I've missed you. I want you in my life again, if that's what you want. I mean, obviously, you can tell me to fuck off and I'll put my clothes on and go, but”

“Armie.”

Tim's hand came to rest on Armie's cock, warm through his jeans. He pressed down, just a little, holding Armie's gaze the whole time.

“Please, _please_ stop talking.”

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> [lion-from-the-north on tumblr](http://lion-from-the-north.tumblr.com/)


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